Reprise
by Niras
Summary: It all depended, does depend, on perspective. In one way or another, Princess Anna laid her head down on her pillow that night, and, depending on one's perspective, she never did wake up again. But something had changed hours earlier, and something would change again much, much later. Everything could change. Except, of course, for one thing. Anna loved Elsa. And Elsa loved Anna.


**The First Time In Forever **

**(That I **_**Finally **_**Understand)**

Drepian Fey was a man. Before that, of course, he was a boy, and only a certain amount of time later (though opinions would certainly differ as to exactly _when_), he _became_ a man. If one is to take into consideration the entirety of what can, for the sake of simplicity, be called the human race, then this is not an uncommon occurrence. Nearly half of the population could be said to go through the same experience. But Drepain Fey was different, because Drepian Fey _was _a man. He was born from a womb like all others, his childhood was both happy and sad, and his ambitions both carried him toward, and terrified him of, adulthood. He was, as most people were, both unique and unremarkable. _Was_. Drepian Fey, for all of his normalcy, did not _stay _a man. Not forever. All at once, and entirely without warning, he became something _else_. And it's a rather funny story, really.

When asked, on numerous occasions, why he had decided to join the military, his answers would often contain something about money. His family had always been right on the edge. They hadn't lived in poverty, but they were never secure. The money for him to go to school just wasn't there, and that was the truth. But it wasn't the reason. Drepian (As an aside, he had always hated the name. His mother thought it sounded classical. He thought it sounded stupid. His friends often called him _Drep_, which he thought was even stupider. But he put up with it. It was his name, after all.) knew that others had managed in harsher situations. There were scholarships, and there were loans. He didn't want to be in debt, not to anyone, but he knew that it could be worth it. Could be. But the truth, the real reason, was that he never trusted himself enough for that. That much weight on his shoulders. That much of a chance for failure. He never considered himself stupid, no, but he had never thought of himself as particularly smart, either. He looked up to people he thought were smart. They saw things he didn't. Things he _never _would. So he decided to become someone who fought, someone who did the right thing in a more _primal _way. Not because he thought it would be easy, but because he thought he _could do it_. He _knew _he could. He _believed_ that. It would be hard, but at least it wouldn't be _complicated_. That's what he thought, anyway. And of course, there was the one aspect that he tried not to admit, even to himself. That he thought any other kind of life would be boring. And with all of that said, he knew what he had to do. This way, he couldn't fail. Not in his eyes. And he couldn't take failure.

So, if he was being honest, that was why he did it. And, somewhat to his surprise, his friends and family had supported his decision. For that, he was more grateful than he could possibly express. Though, they'd asked him about things. Things like the future, things like _plans_. He hadn't thought about it too much. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to. He wasn't sure how long he'd live that way, or another. And of course, the actual job turned out to be different than he'd expected. But he was prepared for that. He was prepared to spend a long time being a soldier. As it happened, he only ever had one deployment overseas. It was sudden when this deployment was cut short. At first, he'd even been somewhat angry, that he'd been forced home over something like this. He should've know, of course, that it was serious. He did _know_, but he wasn't ready to acknowledge it. Not then. And so, when his father finally passed, it was all the more reason for him to cry. For him to feel stupid. For him to somehow blame himself. Maybe he wasn't there when he should have been, maybe he'd made the wrong decision. He'd spent a lot of time wallowing in that. Many months. Eventually, though, he began to realize that he _wasn't_ alone. He didn't have to be. He didn't know when or if he would be redeployed, but for now he was home. He'd missed it more than he thought he would.

All of this, these decisions and events that had shaped his life so far, were what lead to the moment he was riding in a truck on a particularly brisk morning in November. Well, brisk for California. (Needless to say, he'd recently become acclimated to warmer temperatures.) That particular morning, he was deep in thought as he watched the hills in the distance. Not about his life, or the choices he'd made, no, or even about his father, but about his brother. His little brother. His brother who was eleven now, and who looked up to him in a way he couldn't possibly have expected. They hadn't, he thought, even been that close before he'd been deployed. Sure, he'd tried to be a good brother, helping with homework every now and then, sometimes taking him to a movie, but for the most part he'd always been wrapped up in himself. He regretted that, now. Since he'd returned, they'd bonded more than they ever had in the past. Over, well…just anything. A girl in his brother's class he wanted to talk to, how annoying their mother could be, video games, …the way they both missed their father. It was nice. It was…fulfilling in a way he hadn't known was possible.

The question on his mind as the convoy finally pulled into the airfield was an important one. Next week would be his brother's birthday, and he still had no idea what to get him. Sure, he had ideas. Lots of ideas, actually. But which was the _right _one? It had been eating away at him for a few day, honestly. He'd been thinking about it late the night before, when he was called in to sit on an escort for what were, evidently, some important supplies coming out of LA. It was a job that was boring, unnecessary, and certainly unfulfilling, but he needed to do it all the same. It required very little of him (and the others rounded up on such short notice) other than to sit around for the trip and remain, at the very least, awake, in case anything were to happen. As if anything ever happened. Because nothing ever happened.

Except that morning, of course, something happened. The truck stopped so suddenly that he nearly fell forward. For a few moments, there was nothing. One of the others, to his side (he couldn't say for sure, as they were all presumably from the same base, but he didn't think he knew any of these men) mumbled something about the driver. Soon, though, their radios sounded off. It was the Lieutenant in charge, Peters.

"Everyone out." He said. "Now."

And so they did. There weren't many of them. Four, including Drepian, in his truck, which was at the end of the convoy, and just as many ahead in the next. The third and final vehicle at the head presumably contained just the Lieutenant and whoever else had been overseeing the mundane operation. Drepian took note of the surroundings. They had just entered the airfield, and the convoy had stopped in such a way that the rear vehicle (in which Drepian had been riding) had not yet turned the corner around a large hanger, but the others had. These were large trucks with long trailers, they did not make the turns quickly, and they did not make them until the one ahead had completely passed. Nevertheless, safety-wise, it was a terrible position to stop in. Drepian wondered.

"Rear Guard, I need you to move up around the corner to the middle vehicle." One radio hissed. Garrett, the sergeant in charge of the so-called rear guard, answered.

"Sir? You want us to leave our truck?"

"Yes, Sergeant, make it quick."

Nothing more needed to be said. The four of them began a quick jog up the side of the building and around the corner. Drepian was sure that it was a simple problem, whatever it was, bet he was beginning to wonder why the Lieutenant was bothering to move them. One of of the others, whom Drepain had spoken to for a few minutes at the start of the trip, turned toward him as they moved.

"I knew it." He said, simply.

Drepian shifted his gaze questioningly.

"Those boxes in that truck, there wasn't anything in them. Empty."

Drepian made a confused face at him but said nothing. Whether he believed his new acquaintance or not, he had no idea what it could mean. Possibly, probably, nothing. By the time he had any intention of saying so, they had already reached the center truck. The only one there was an older man in considerably less gear than the rest of them, so Drepian was not surprised when he read the man's name as Peters. Peters, who barely acknowledged them as they approached.

"Sir?" Garrett said questioningly. "Where are the others?"

"…They've gone ahead." The Lieutenant paused, and turned to them. "It's just a precaution. I want two of you back here and two in the front, until they return."

This struck Drepian as odd. Far be it from him to question orders, but…well, it simply struck him as odd.

"Which one of you is Fey?" Drepian unconsciously straightened his stature at the mention of his name.

"I am, Sir."

"Okay. …You, Garrett, with me." He motioned for them, and they followed toward the front of the truck. As they walked, Peters nodded his head at Drepain's rifle. "You're supposed to be a good shot?"

Drepian cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, Sir."

"Good." …Drepian resisted the urge to question this.

"Sir," Garrett began, as they reached the front of the vehicle, "I didn't think this was part of the plan."

Peters gave the man a glance. "It wasn't."

A small shiver ran down Drepian's spine. He'd guessed as much already, of course. Still…he glanced and turned to the side. The bright orange of the morning sun was finally beginning to rise above the horizon, warming the sky's hue. And yet…

Peters lowered his head and scraped his heel against the pavement. He clicked his radio. "Linder, report."

Silence.

"Linder."

Drepain glanced at Garrett. He could almost see the man let out a long, wavering breath. Something was wrong.

"…Forward Guard, report."

…No, more than that, something _wasn't right_.

"…Dammit! Forward Guard, what is your-"

"Sir." Garrett loosed the word like an arrow, and it seemed to pierce Drepian through the heart as his eyes darted first to Garrett himself, and then quickly to follow the man's gaze. He lowered his stance. He held his breath.

For a brief moment, Peters said nothing at all. "…Forward Guard, please respond."

The figure across the runway, having now emerged completely from the shade of the building, was small, but impossible to miss against the quickly illuminating sky. It wasn't one of theirs. And it was walking toward them. Garrett spoke quickly.

"Sir, I thought we'd cleared staff from this runway."

"…We have." Peters switched frequencies on his radio. "All Rear Guard to the front of the vehicle. Now."

Garrett never shifted his gaze, but Drepian slowly turned toward the Lieutenant.

"Yes Sir." One of the others, on the radio, responded, but Peter's didn't seem to hear. He'd already lowered the radio.

"…Fey, do you have a shot?"

Again, Drepian tensed as his name was used. And…wait, what? He quickly lowered to a knee and brought the sight of his weapon to his eye. He could see whoever it was clearly now. They were wearing black from head to toe, and had a tight sort of hood over their head. …He said nothing, just watching for a moment.

"Fey?"

The figure continued steadily moving forward.

"Sir, they're unarmed."

Drepian shivered again.

"Fey, _can you can land a shot on the knee?_"

He felt for wind against his skin. There wasn't any.

"…Yes."

It was _cold._

"Take the shot, Fey."

He slowly released the safety on the rifle.

"…Sir, but-" Garrett tried to interject.

Drepian sucked in his breath…

"Now, Fey. Now. Take the shot."

… and slowly let it out. For a moment, everything was quiet.

And then…then he pulled the trigger, and-

_Huh?_

Something was wrong. Another breath, and another release. This time he was careful as he pulled it. Nothing.

"…Fey-"

He stood, and turned the weapon on it's side. "I-I don't know, it must be jammed."

Peters cursed. Drepian stared at the broken thing incredulously. He'd just checked it a few hours before.

"Garrett. Do it, quickly." Drepian glanced back. The other two had joined them at the front now, watching silently. Garrett, with a slow reluctance in his movements, went to comply. Drepian gazed back into the distance, preparing for the loud-

_Crack_.

There it was. But then…the figure never once broke its stride. And-

"Ah-!" Garrett lunged backwards. Drepain shielded his eyes. There was the sound of tiny, scattering _somethings_. It was a moment before he dared look. Garrett's rifle was now in more than one piece. He leaned down toward what was left. Scattered everywhere, there were small shards of …of-

"… Is that-"

"AHH!" Garrett screamed. He screamed loud. It was muffled by the time Drepian turned to see him, looking looking a caterpillar quickly becoming encased in a chrysalis. An _icy _chrysalis. Hmm…come to think of it, Drepian _was _cold. Oh, and he was screaming. Yes, he was screaming.

"Dammit!" Peters rushed forward, pulling out his sidearm. "FIRE!"

The others must have complied, because soon there was just _noise_. For a split second, he could see that the figure was much closer now, somehow, much closer than it should have been. Soon, though, any line of sight was covered as bullets ricocheted into quick beams of light in every direction, and a heavy smoke (or was it…steam?) erupted into the air. His eyes burned. He threw his hands in front of his face. At some point, Drepian ended up on the ground. It had all become quiet just as quickly as it had become loud, but Drepian's ears were still ringing as the figure approached him. It was closer, yes, but shrouded so thoroughly that he couldn't make out any features. Through the ringing, he almost didn't hear the voice, but when he did, he knew the it was a she. And it took a second time for him to really process what this she had said.

"_Who's in charge?"_

"…Uh-" He simply stammered, unsure of everything. She walked over quickly to where his rifle had evidently ended up, and picked it up in one fluid motion.

"Get up." She said. Suddenly, he was aware that she was speaking to _him_. He made to do as she asked, quickly but carefully. As far as he knew, the rifle was still jammed, but he couldn't be sure. She was holding it, but she wasn't yet pointing it at him. When he finally got to his feet, a third involuntary shiver made its way gently up his neck. It just looked like four misshapen blocks of ice. She must have noticed the horror wash over his features.

"I don't want to hurt anyone." She said, but in a manner so…so _cold_, that he was almost certain she meant the opposite. "Do as I say, and they will be fine."

Had she _done _this? He didn't ask. He couldn't speak.

"Which one is the leader?"

The only way he could possibly know was the position of the shattered sidearm. He pointed at whatever it was that was left of Peters. Suddenly, the ice seemed to instantly retract, melting only around the middle of the Lieutenant's frame. She approached the body quickly, but suddenly stopped. After a moment, she beckoned him. "There's a…a key, on his person, a card. Find it, _now_."

Drepian stumbled over, intending to dig into what appeared to be the pockets of a disembodied chest, but found his hands unmovable. Only then did he notice the frost creeping from his arms down to his his gloves, frozen solid. Carefully, he pulled them off, flexing his fingers. He could _barely_ feel them. Still, he was able to open the chest pouch. The card was there, as she'd said. Peters was _cold_.

"…This?" He asked, finding his voice and letting a hint of anger show through.

"Yes-" Again, she moved forward to take it, but stopped short. "…Around to the back, _now_."

This time, the barrel of the weapon _was _pointed at him…but she wasn't holding it right. He didn't dare take the chance. With only a small, shaking glance at the blocks of ice, he complied, walking back towards the direction they had come. He moved quickly, listening for the faintest of footsteps just behind him, but somehow it seemed to be an eternity before they'd reached the doors to the trailer. Before he even knew what was happening, the lock shattered into iced shards and the doors flew open. The second he saw the inside of the truck, he knew this operation _had not_ been what they'd said it was. There were no boxes, no ammunition and no _supplies_. There was just _a box_, no a _container_ of some sort, and a large one at that. Judging by the thick, metal look of the thing, he didn't think it was a shipment of MREs. He hadn't realized, but _she _had been staring just as he had. She lurched forward and flinched before quickly turning to him, regaining an air of complete control.

"Take the key, and open it. _Now_."

That was the fourth shiver. He made a habit of checking the weather, most days. Today, the low was 61 degrees. He was _freezing_. Again, he complied, lifting himself up into the trailer. His hands were shaking, though from cold or something else he couldn't tell. As he approached, he knew exactly where to swipe the card. He'd seen it on doors many times before. He didn't know if he wanted to do it. He _didn't _want to do it. He glanced backward, subtle. He _had_ to do it. When the card was swiped, a red light turned green. He didn't look back, not now. He reached for the handle on the side. No, _now _he couldn't take his eyes off of the-

"Stop!" She said, behind him. "_Stop_, get away from it!"

He froze.

"Come back."

He did.

"Quickly."

He sped up, but continually glanced at the large container, as if it was about to explode. When he slipped back out of the trailer, she spoke slowly to him.

"Stay _here_. Do not let _anyone _come near. If no one comes near, no one will be hurt. Do you understand?"

He nodded. Now, standing close enough, he could see eyes somewhere between hood and cowl. Eyes that seemed to regard him for only a moment, before darting off toward whatever it was he had just unlocked. Suddenly losing all sense of composure, she wasted no time scrambling into the trailer and slamming the doors shut. Of course, they bounced back a bit, just a crack, and there wasn't a chance in hell he could avert his eyes, so he saw her lay his weapon down quickly. He saw her pull at the handle. Her saw her grab the top of the thing, and throw it open like she was slamming her way into a locked room. And he saw when an gold sort of light, quite like the dawn he'd been watching just a few minutes ago, exploded outward for just a moment and sent a freezing wind that knocked the doors wide open. Drepian ducked, expecting raining fire or exploding shrapnel.

None came.

Instead, when he allowed his eyes to open, he saw that she had pulled away the cowl, and a few strands of white-blonde hair had spilled their way out of her hood. Somehow, it was the opposite of what he'd expected. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes seemed to almost quiver. All at once, he _needed_ to know what she could see, and yet certainly, completely, did _not_ want to. It wouldn't matter, of course.

He found out.

"Anna!" She screamed, and practically dove into the box, pulling out into her trembling arms…another…another _body_. …Or was it? …Drepian's mouth was now far further open than her's had been.

"…Eh-" Suddenly, surprisingly, impossibly, a weak voice came forth from the body. "E…E-Elsa-"

Drepian watched in awe as the first woman squeezed the second, both of them shaking and seemingly unaware of his presence. This new one had hair that looked fiery red, but seemed soaked. And she had no _clothes_. Just what the hell was going _on_ here?

"…I'm s-so _cold_…" For a moment, the first seemed to pull the girl in even further, but then suddenly lurched backward. Drepian was panicking. At first, he'd lost control of the situation. That was one thing. That was something he could try to regain. Now, he had no idea what the situation _was_. He was, for lack of a less ironic term, frozen.

Another sound escaped from the second woman, this time at least strong enough for him to recognize it has something of a chuckle. It seemed so out of place. His eyes darted to the discarded weapon on the floor of the trailer.

"…N-no, Elsa, please, somehow…you're _warm_." He couldn't see the girl's face, but he could hear the weak smile in her voice. The first was already pulling off her long, black cloak and wrapping it around the shivering second.

He became aware in an instant of the sound, not daring to whip his head around but letting his eyes dart off to the side. _Cars_. They were far, but they _were_ coming. _She_ must have heard it as well. She pulled gently on the one in her arms.

"Anna, I'm sorry, we _need _to go. Can you…can you walk?"

"I'm…okay," They slowly came to a shaky stand together, stumbling out toward where Drepain stood. "Elsa what's…what's going on?"

As they gently slid down from the trailer, Drepian twitched. He had _no idea _what…what to do, but he just…needed _time_. Again, without moving a muscle, he noticed the weapon still lying in the truck. She'd forgotten it. She must have. And they weren't even looking at him. _Now _was his chance, because she must not have known. But he _hadn't _forgotten.

So when the shivering girl began, her voice becoming more and more confident, "I…I can't remem-", he cut her off.

"Stop!" He yelled. The pistol was pulled from the strap on his thigh and aimed before they could even turn to see him. "Stay right there!" He didn't know who they were, but he _would _figure this out.

The first woman, careful even then to release the other gently, lurched forward at him, anger clear on her face. "No, _you _stop! You have no idea what you're doing!"

… Is…is that…" The other uttered weakly, still shivering. "No, stop!" Suddenly, her loosely held dark cloak nearly slipping away, she darted forward with more strength than Drepian would have thought her capable of, and went to place herself between the two of them, arms reaching out in both directions. Before he could even react, her hand was making its way to push his down.

"_No, Anna! No!_"

Things might have been different, of course. If Drepian's mother had decided to take that job when he was three years old, they may have had more money. If Drepian's old friend, now a physicist, hadn't moved away when he was 9, perhaps he would've been more interested in academics. If Drepian's father's cancer hadn't spread so quickly, perhaps he wouldn't be home. If he'd gotten drunk on alcohol and tears the night before, like so many others in the past few months, maybe he'd never have been put on the operation. If ice hadn't frozen his gloves solid, perhaps he never would have taken them off. Perhaps things would've been _different_.

_Would've_. But they weren't. And he was _there_, at that moment, when the girl who had appeared mysteriously from a box went to push down his hands, the ones that held the gun. And when she did, her skin did not find gloves, but skin as well, and for a slight moment, they _touched_. And that was when the funny thing happened. Immediately, Drepian's eyes rolled backwards and he slumped to his knees. If his brain hadn't been, essentially, _disintegrating_, a scream may have been able to escape his lips. But it was, and none did. By the time any of the vehicles in the distance had reached him, _Drepian_ was gone. Because _Drepian Fey, _for all his normalcy, did not _stay _a man. Not _forever_.


End file.
